Crew (Crew #1)

Typical Jordan. I laughed. “Of course.”

Cross tugged me to him again, his hand sliding down my arm and curling around my waist. His fingers moved up under my shirt. “And that means we’ve got the whole night to ourselves.”

And the whole house.

“Where are your parents?”

He grinned wolfishly. “Who the fuck cares?”





The cough should’ve alarmed me.

Cross was never sick, and I hadn’t coughed. But it didn’t. It only woke me. I was too sleepy to process it all the way. I opened one eye to find Cross sleeping, his face turned toward me. He was half-curled in a ball, his head missing the pillow. His long eyelashes… I reached out to trace my hand down his face.

I’d always thought it, but it was only reinforced now: he had so much potential. He was smart. He was handsome. He was funny. He could follow, but he was a leader. He was my leader. I looked down over his strong jawline to the muscles that moved up and down with such ease as he breathed. He was a specimen, a perfect and masterful specimen.

He was mine. That’s what he was.

“Are you done ogling Cross, Bren?”

Both Cross and I reacted at the same time. I flipped around, one hand going for the sheet and the other for my knife. Cross merely leaped over me.

It was Jordan sitting in Cross’ desk chair, but Cross had lunged for him. He couldn’t pull back, even after he saw who it was. They both fell to the floor, and Cross rolled away and to his knees. He’d had the foresight to put his boxer briefs on again, but not me. My underwear was on, but he’d talked me into letting my boobs breathe free.

“Jordan!” Cross scrambled to his feet, breathing harshly, which highlighted every single one of the muscles in his chest and stomach. He raised a hand, but stopped. He looked from me to Jordan. His hand lowered. “Shit.”

Jordan wasn’t smiling. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he looked worried.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Put your clothes on, Bren.”

“Jordan—” Cross started, pointing to me.

Jordan cut him off, waving his hand briskly in the air. “I don’t care about that.”

I grabbed my tank and pulled it on. The same with my jeans. I couldn’t find my bra, but at the moment, I didn’t care. Something was wrong.

“What happened?” I asked again.

Jordan hesitated, glancing back to Cross. “Maybe you should sit for this?”

No one sat.

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Just tell us, Jordan.” I looked to the open door.

“No one’s here,” Jordan said. “Zellman’s at the hospital.” He started to say more, but stopped. His eyes closed, and he seemed to shrink in size, becoming half the guy he usually was.

“Jordan.” A low warning from Cross. “Just say it.”

He opened his eyes, first finding me. An appealing look flared for a second, and I stepped toward him. I felt like he was asking me to draw near, but that wasn’t like him at all.

“Race went to the hospital last night. He was there with your sister.”

“Yeah. We knew that.” Cross was frowning. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging with the movement.

“And we all went to Manny’s. We heard Alex was there.”

“We knew that too.”

A lump was in the back of my throat. “Why’s Zellman at the hospital?” He wouldn’t go to be there with Race. “Race would’ve been released last night. His injuries weren’t that bad.”

Jordan kept on as if I hadn’t said a word. He was no longer looking at either of us. He stared at a spot on the wall. “Alex was at Manny’s. At first.”

“At first?” I prompted.

“He was drinking. Brandon wouldn’t serve him, but he got a bottle of whiskey. He was drinking in the back. Heather looked for him a few times, but he hid from her. Brandon finally found him and kicked him out.”

He looked at Cross then. His eyes were so strange, I almost gasped. They were bleak and stricken.

Hurting. They were hurting.

I felt a whisper inside me, a beckoning. He had the same darkness in him that I had felt, and as if on cue, I felt her wanting to come out. She wanted to rise and protect me.

I pushed her down.

Jordan took a breath, then spoke in a voice that was unnaturally soft. “I was making out with Sweets last night. Zellman was shooting pool. We were having fun, and we weren’t watching. Everyone thought Alex would walk home, sleep it off.”

But he didn’t.

I could tell how this was going to play out.

I touched my forehead, feeling a headache forming. “Who did he hurt?”

“The hospital released Race last night, so Taz took him to the hotel in town. That one he’s been staying at with his mom.”

If Alex had been walking home, the hotel was right in the middle of his route.

“Oh no.”

No, no, no.

I knew what he was going to say.

Race helped us, so many times.

We pushed him, not trusting. But he kept helping.

Now this…

I sank down on the bed. Alex had already hurt his cousin. Race would’ve been weak, or even drugged. The hospital would’ve given him painkillers. They would’ve made him fall asleep.

He was helpless.

I began to fear the worst.

Then Jordan looked at Cross. “He hurt Taz.”

I looked up.

Taz.

He said Taz.

Not Race.

Taz.

I surged back to my feet. “Cross.”

Cross was on his feet, a dark look clouding over him. He swallowed, and a look in his eyes I had never seen before flashed bright. “What did he do to her?”

Jordan spoke faster now, his hand out like he could soothe Cross. “I don’t know the extent of it, but she’s in the hospital. Z’s with her.” He paused. “So are your parents.”

Cross nodded, like he knew that already.

Jordan kept on, “They were gone on some trip. The hospital called them. They got there an hour ago. I’ve been…” He gestured to the desk chair. “I waited as long as I could.”

“For what?” Cross laughed, an edge of hysteria there. “To let me sleep in?”

Jordan straightened to his full height. “To let the cops talk to Alex first.”

First.

I looked at Cross. He and Jordan stared at each other with a shared understanding.

Then Cross turned to me, and I felt it. It started in my toes, making them curl, but the trickle moved up my legs. It pooled between them—where he’d been not long ago before we fell asleep again—and now it filled my chest. It went down my arms, making my fingers twitch, and it continued its path upward. My neck. The back of my head. Finally everything was coated.

I was ready. I knew what Cross would do, and I held my knife out to him.

He looked at it and shook his head.

He dressed, pulling on a sleeveless black shirt and jeans.

He left the room.

I followed him. Jordan followed me.

Cross went to his father’s office. The closet opened, I heard a series of beeps, and he appeared again—a 9mm in his hand.





We waited three hours.

Three hours for Alex to be booked into police custody, to be processed, and then let out on bond. Three fucking hours, for hurting Taz.

In the meantime, we got the story.

Zellman was with Race at the hospital, and he relayed it on his way to the police station. He told us over the phone that Alex had shown up when Taz took him to the hotel. His mom had stayed back at the hospital to finish some additional paperwork, but Taz drove him, going ahead so he could sleep.

Alex showed up.

Drunk. High. In a rage.

He and Race started fighting, and he swung wide at one point, hitting Taz instead of Race.

He didn’t realize it wasn’t his cousin, and he hit her again and again.

Race shoved him off, but the damage was done.

Her left cheek was fractured. So was her lower jaw. All her teeth were intact, but she’d have to have her mouth wired shut for ten weeks.

Ten.

Weeks.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not to a Normal. To crew, yes. We ran that chance. We signed up for it. We signed up knowing the risks. But family. Friends? Fuck no. They didn’t sign up for it.

It was wrong.

Alex needed to go.